


Day Grows Slowly

by abriata



Series: Day Grows Slowly [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abriata/pseuds/abriata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam, a mutant since birth, has sekrit ginormous wings. So does Kris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Grows Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink meme prompt: _Kris and Adam are undercover guardian angels charged with watching over Allison through her time on AI, but neither know about the other. OR, you know, any other excuse you can come up with for them both to have huge, kick-awesome secret wings._ But I totally skipped the part about guardian angels or anything to do with Allison.

Adam really kind of likes his wings. They're awesome, and huge, and so soft that he always wants to sleep curled up in them. It would be even more awesome if he were supposed to have wings, but since he isn't – well, it's a stupid law anyway.

The traits are genetic, so it's not like it's their fault, and forcing people to get parts removed just because they're anthropomorphic traits is totally, completely wrong. He's met hundreds of people who have tails, dozens who have gills, though wings are more rare. It's even less likely that any of the structures are usable, since they're supposedly vestigial, and so far as Adam knows he's the only one who can actually fly with his. Where he lives, though, that never happens. He has to content himself with sunning once in a while, spread on his stomach with them stretched out long and dark.

They're not that hard to hide, actually. Most of the people who manage to keep theirs obviously have the smaller ones, scales along their spines or retractable claws, prehensile tails they'll curl around their leg. (Brad has one. The things are _amazing_ , seriously.) Adam's wings are so large that he'd been afraid as he'd gotten older and they grew with him that he'd have to get them removed – secretly, because if he went in publicly now it would be revealed that his parents had him keep them, and the general population is touchy enough about eliminating _every_ abnormality at birth that they'd get arrested at the very least. But while the wings grew with him, they folded in differently, some way that Adam's never been able to figure out, even watching in the mirror and feeling it happen hundreds of time. They compress along his spine, up against his shoulder blades and down to his tailbone, but they go small enough that with clothes on you can't see them. He likes heavy jackets for security but even a t-shirt will do if he doesn't bend wrong.

He's not about to let wings keep him from anything, especially when he's so good at hiding them, so American Idol is no big deal. The roommate thing he thinks might be tricky, but Kris is good about giving him plenty of privacy and time in the bathroom. Adam even considers telling him, once or twice, because he knows there's no way Kris would freak out, but he doesn't want him in that position if Adam ever gets caught for them.

He comes in one afternoon way too early; he's supposed to be practicing for another hour but he heard Allison asking for extra time that the schedule wouldn't fit, so he gave her his place. So he's way too early, and Kris is standing in the closet doorway. Adam doesn't blame him for letting his guard down a little – he knows how it's like to be tense all the time – but he doesn't come in quietly and he only sees a flash of feathers before Kris is spun around, undershirt clutched to his chest.

Adam says, "Hey," holds up his hands and steps into the room, making sure the door locks all the way shut.

"It's not—" Kris starts, and then he says, "Please don't freak out."

"Nope," Adam says calmly, "Can I see?"

Kris swallows, stares at him like he's weighing his options and Adam will tell him in a minute, stop him from freaking out, but he wants to see first.

When Adam steps closer Kris says, "Yeah," and turns around, but he's hunched over and they're pressed tight to his back from caution and fear. They're smaller than Adam's but not by much, probably functional, which Adam thinks makes Kris his favorite person in the world by default.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Adam tells him, but he doesn't really believe him so Adam asks, "Who else knows?"

Kris doesn't answer and Adam says, "Hey," backs away to sit on his bed so Kris can turn around. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt you, here."

"Then why do you want to know?" And Adam doesn't blame him, because he wouldn't trust anyone who asked him that either.

"I've only ever told two of my boyfriends and then there's my family. Just five people in the world, isn't that crazy?" He smiles, waits for Kris to tilt his head curiously.

"What?"

Adam shrugs out of his jacket. "Mine are black, though, not white. I wonder how the color and patterns happen, because all the people I've met who have fur or feathers, it's never the same color as their hair or skin."

"You have—" Kris almost asks, and Adam pulls off his shirt and unfurls his wings almost at the same time, because he knows how impressive it looks and yeah, he's a little vain. He _likes_ his wings.

Kris steps forward, hand outreached to touch with a look too shocked to be awe. Adam catches his wrist, says, "I didn't think we were that kind of friends." He smiles and Kris smiles back, finally calm.

"What kind?" he asks, and Adam says, "Oh, baby," because he can't imagine not knowing.

"Huh?" is all Kris gets out as Adam turns him around. Then he slides his palms over the arch of the wing, sliding from the base joint as far along as he can reach, and Kris says, "Oh," and almost drops his legs out from under him.

Adam laughs. "Yeah. That's one way of putting it," because _he_ does know. It's not there when it's your own hands but when it's anyone else you can't focus on anything but their touch – it's like masturbating versus actual sex, only a thousand times stronger. Adam can come just from someone playing with his wings.

Kris turns back to him and says, "Um, can I, can you," and grabs Adam's shoulder, stepping nearer. Adam's had comments but he's never seen it, not until now, and he sees what everyone always meant: Kris' wings are arching, curving close, close, close, but not touching, a last bit of reticence in case Adam tells him no. He's almost up on his toes, eyes wide, and Adam says, "Let's see," and pushes him down onto his stomach the bed. He flails a little, arms and legs and wings. Adam smacks his ass gently, "Hold still," and settles over his thighs. Kris sighs, breath shaky, but he listens and lays flat.

Adam starts by setting his hands below the wing joints, spreading his hands all around the edge where skin meets bone and pressing softly. He can feel Kris' pulse against his thumbs, blood rushing to keep six feet of wingspan alive and warm to the touch, and he leans down, blows air cool against hot skin. Kris shivers at it and Adam leans further over him, stretching his own wings out to surround them. He tells Kris, "Tell me if it's too much," and presses his fingers into his feathers.

Kris squirms insistently, stays quiet for maybe a couple of seconds before he starts to pant. Adam feels his own breathing speeding up in sympathy and he rubs his fingers in circles, like a massage only completely different. Moaning, Kris presses up into his hands, sprawling out as far as he can on the bed. One tip presses against Adam's wing and Adam gasps, because _fuck_. He tightens his hold, strokes along the feathers and then combs his fingers back through them, which brings Kris all the way off the bed.

Maybe in retaliation, Kris moves one of his hands to grab the edge of Adam's wing. It's too tight, really, it hurts just enough that Adam can't help but grind down against Kris' ass. Kris gasps, "Adam," and he says, "Yeah," absently in return.

"No – _Adam_ ," Kris says again, and oh, yeah, okay.

Adam leans down, flattens a hand between Kris' wings to hold himself up and hold Kris down, and bites at the top of his wing. Kris yelps, a strangled noise, and Adam sets his teeth in firmer. He thrusts a little again, because Kris is still not gentle, even though he's moving his fingers against Adam's wing. He pulls away, says, "Hold on," but Kris whines and he huffs, rolls his eyes.

"Okay, fine, get off in your pants," and Kris manages to get out, "Yeah, thanks," and Adam grabs his wings down near the tips, almost too tight like Kris has him, and combs them all the way up to the shoulder blades. Kris is writhing like he wants to fight, pressing alternately against the sheets and then back against Adam, soft noises like pleas every time Adam's fingers reach down through feathers to soft, untouched skin.

He jerks suddenly, harder than before, and Adam bites his other wing, pressing them flat to the bed and still. When he's come, still dazed and breathing fast, Adam moves to lay next to him. They don’t fit really well but he manages, until Kris pushes himself up onto one arm and says, "Move."

"Can't," Adam says, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Kris says crankily, and shoves at Adam's arm. Adam lifts it and Kris shifts over him, flopping half on top so Adam has to spread his wing out and wrap his arm around him. When he settles he's laying partly on Adam's wing and he's got his stretched out all on top, so they're brushing, and Adam stifles a groan and trails a hand down to his cock.

Kris slaps at his wrist. "Don't," and Adam thinks he may be the only person he's ever met who's grumpier after an orgasm than before. Adam's about to tell him to suck it up but he says, "You have to fuck me in a minute."

"I do, huh?" Adam says wryly, but it's not like he's really objecting.

"Yeah," Kris says peacefully, mouthing at Adam's neck, "And then I think you've got a lot to tell me."

Adam asks, "Can you fly?"

"Yeah," but Kris is already distracted, pressing his lips to Adam's feathers, "Can't you?"

"I've never really been where I can try," is about all he can get out before he has to yank Kris up to kiss him just as self-preservation from his teeth.

"Well," Kris says a while later, "I'll have to take you home. Arkansas has a lot of empty space, it's good for that."

"I think we can do that," Adam smiles, and slides his hands down Kris' wings.


End file.
